


Spectacle Island Domestics

by Azzandra



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Main Quest, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5817265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azzandra/pseuds/Azzandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble collection of my Sole Survivor and companions. Some are gen, some are shippy, mostly they're fluffy and/or humorous. Characters and summary for each drabble are listen in the notes at the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Etiquette

**Author's Note:**

> Most of these drabbles take part after the main quest, with my Railroad-aligned Sole Survivor (Phil), but occasionally I might do some drabbles out of chronological order.
> 
> Here is a listing of the drabbles in this series:
> 
> 1\. Etiquette (Phil, Preston): Phil has a conundrum about decorating. Preston helps.  
> 2\. The Taste of Futility (MacCready, Piper): MacCready attempts to have a snack. Attempts.  
> 3\. Care (Piper, Phil): Piper is woken by a sound at night...  
> 4\. Type (Piper, Phil, Hancock): Piper wants to know what Phil sees in Hancock.  
> 5\. Introductions (MacCready, Phil): MacCready introduces Phil to his son.  
> 6\. Unwind (Phil, Hancock): Phil worried. Hancock tries to help.

Setting up a new household on Spectacle Island turned out to be a consuming project for Phil, as she threw herself into it with reserves of enthusiasm that could only have built up in someone raised pre-War. Like a whirlpool, though, everyone else was soon sucked into it, and found themselves not minding much.

Preston, in particular, was fairly pleased. Spectacle Island was a short boat ride away from the Castle, and, as Phil had pointed out, a much shorter commute than Sanctuary Hills.

Things were working out just fine.

That day, however, there was something displeased about Phil's expression as she rooted through the steamer trunk, and it made Preston pause. He put down the chairs he'd been carrying into the house, and walked up to her.

"Something wrong, babe?" he asked.

Phil took out a plastic bowl from the trunk and turned it in her hands.

"Not exactly, no," she said. "Just wondering about the etiquette. I can't just litter chems over the coffee table, can I? So I was thinking a nice bowl." She picked up another bowl from the trunk and presented it to Preston. "The plastic one looks a bit too shabby, but the ceramic might be a bit much. I'm torn. What do you think?"

Preston blinked.

"Uh. First of all, how does etiquette factor into this?" he asked.

"Well," Phil said, "I don't suppose you noticed this, but we do have a few people in our acquaintance who indulge quite a bit."

"You mean Hancock."

"He is the main offender, yes."

"So you want to keep chems in a bowl for him?"

"What I want," Phil sighed, "is to have a bowl that I can put out for guests who feel the urge. A bowl I can easily pick up and store away in a cabinet when other guests come along who _don't_  so much feel the urge."

"You mean Cait."

"She is the main person I had in mind, yes."

"You're not concerned about Shaun seeing the bowl of... complimentary chems?"

Phil snorted.

"Hiding something from a child is a sure way of making sure they nose around in it," she said. "Oh, he asked about chems already, but I had Curie give him a lesson about the biochemistry behind drug addiction earlier this month, and he hasn't been curious again since."

"Well, that's good," Preston said, and looked at the bowls again. "If you still want my opinion, whichever one goes best with the decor. Hancock won't notice, but it's going to bother you if it doesn't match."

Phil beamed in response.

"Ceramic one it is," she said, and placed both bowls back in the trunk. She bounced on her feet and kissed Preston on the cheek. "Thanks, Pres."

Preston took advantage of the situation to loop his arms around her waist and pull her in for a deeper kiss.

"Anytime, babe."


	2. The Taste of Futility

The first thing Phil finished arranging in the house was the kitchen area.

There were no real walls separating the kitchen from the general dining and living room area--a set-up Phil called 'open plan'. The kitchen instead seemed to spring up naturally around the stove in the corner: a table where Phil could prepare food, an ice box and a cooler where she could store perishable food, and shelves.

The shelves, at least, were deliberate in their purpose, holding crockery and unperishable food scavenged from across the Commonwealth.

Rather notably, MacCready and Deacon had been the ones roped into carrying the heavy shelving unit off the boat and into the house on moving day, largely because most of everyone was already busy with other things. This was a task which had reduced them both to sweaty messes and brought MacCready closer to just cutting loose and swearing up a storm than he had been in years. Until Phil came across them halfway to their destination and asked why they hadn't disassembled the shelf to move it in pieces.

Neither Deacon nor MacCready ever fully recovered from their deep and abiding grudge on the shelf after that.

MacCready did come close, though, every time he looked across the room and saw the bounty of food on the second lowest shelf.

He couldn't help it. InstaMash, Pork'N'Beans, Sugar Bombs, Cram, potato crisps, every manner of hyper-preserved, unnaturally processed goody which had survived the nuclear apocalypse was represented on that shelf. The hungry scrounger in him was always placated by the sight. 

Phil always caught his eye when he stared a bit too hungrily at that shelf.

"Want me to cook you something?" she would ask, and MacCready couldn't say no to a hot meal. The woman could do things with radstag that MacCready hadn't known possible.

So, really, MacCready had no real designs on any of the food items on the shelf, especially not when Phil was around.

When Phil wasn't around, though...

Well, if he just happened to be in her house when she was off at the Castle taking care of some business, it wasn't out of the ordinary. Her house tended to be open to all her companions, and plenty of them were constantly in and out, regardless if she was around.

If he happened to be lounging on a couch enjoying the adventures of Grognak the Barbarian as lunch rolled around, that was also, mostly, happenstance. He'd simply lost track of time.

And if in losing track of time he hadn't noticed how hungry he felt, well...

That was what the food on the shelf was for, wasn't it? Phil couldn't be around all the time cooking for her ravenous but culinarily-inept companions.

Good ol' Phil, thinking of everything, MacCready said to himself, as he reached for a can of Pork'N'Beans.

Here, however, was when he hit his first snag, because the can was far lighter than it should have been.

The can was empty, MacCready realized with dismay. When he turned it, the bottom lid was missing, and the inside of the can was shiny and clean and devoid of its delicious contents.

"Weird," MacCready muttered to himself, but maybe it had been a mistake, or some sort of prank. Maybe Phil was saving up the can for scrap, and hadn't taken it to her workshop yet. Whatever.

He reached for a box of deviled eggs instead. Good stuff, eggs. Good stuffing, heh heh.

This box was not empty, but unfortunately, as MacCready noticed, it did not have deviled eggs inside either. The contents rattled around, and when MacCready opened the box, he found two holotapes inside. One was labeled _Recipes_ and the other _Recipes: in progress_.

Alright, yeah, the secret behind Phil's delicious Yao Guai roast was probably contained on one of these holotapes. An appropriately kitcheny thing for her to have, but it was still not for eating.

Third time's the charm, thought MacCready, and reached for a box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. This one didn't rattle.

It didn't rattle because the bottlecaps inside were stuffed into a rag so they wouldn't make noise. The Snack Cakes were a lie.

MacCready's stomach growled, possibly in frustration.

"This is ridiculous," MacCready scoffed, dropping the Fancy Lads box back on the shelf and picking up a Sugar Bombs box instead. This one was overflowing with packages of gumdrops, but no sugar bombs. "Are you friggin' kidding me here?"

"What are you doing?"

Startled by the voice behind him, MacCready whipped around and dropped the box. Gumdrops scattered across the floor as MacCready froze in place under Piper's suspicious gaze.

"Are you snooping around in Phil's things?" Piper asked. "Good one, MacCready. I thought _I_ was supposed to be the nosy one."

"I thought it was food!" MacCready blurted out.

He crouched on the ground and hastily began stuffing the gumdrops back in the box.

"I was hungry," he said quickly. "I didn't know I'd be plumbing Phil's secret stashes of inedible junk," he added in a mutter.

"Watch what you're calling inedible," Piper replied, snorting as she swiped a pack of gumdrops. "Why didn't you hit the cooler if you're hungry? She keeps leftovers in there."

"Oh, I'm sorry," MacCready rolled his eyes, "when I see boxes of food in front of me, I kind of assume there's _food_ inside them."

"No, it's mostly just junk and gumdrops," Piper said, popping a gumdrop in her mouth.

"So there's no food in any of them," MacCready surmised.

"Nope."

"And you know this, how exactly?" MacCready continued.

Piper began chewing her gumdrop forcefully, looking a great deal flustered.

"I know things," she said, a tiny bit defensive. "I'm a reporter, it's my job."

"Uh-huh," MacCready said. "So it's not because, just like me, you were looking for something to eat and found holotapes to chew on."

"Nope," Piper said, lifting her chin defiantly and daring him to contradict her.

"I'm going to search the cooler now," MacCready said.

"Good choice," Piper replied.


	3. Care

There was a very slight squeak.

It wasn't usually the kind of noise that would have woken Piper up, but her dreams were already restless, and she drifted into wakefulness. Cracking open an eye, she began making sense of the dim room.

She was on Spectacle Island, she remembered, and there was a sense of relief at that. No danger here.

There was also someone with her in the room, and after a few seconds of catching up, her sleep-muddled brain informed her it was Phil.

Because Phil was sitting on the floor with her back leaned against the bed frame, Piper didn't have to lift her head from the mattress to see what she was doing. The squeak came from Piper's boots, which were in Phil's hands at the moment.

With some confusion, Piper watched as Phil squeezed Wonderglue into the opening where the boot's sole was starting to peel off the shoe. Then she kept watching as Phil pinched the sole tightly in place and waited for the glue to set.

Then, adequately bewildered by these events, Piper drifted to sleep again.

By the time she woke up the next morning, the entire incident was gone from her memory, lost in the void of half-sleep and fatigue. But when Piper put her boots on, she felt her gait differently. There was less drag, and it took her several steps and a close inspection to realize it was because the soles were no longer coming off.

When asked about it, Phil shrugged chalked it up to shoe gnomes.


	4. Type

Phil must have read that comic a dozen times over, just counting all the times Piper had seen her, but once again she was lounging on the couch, re-reading.

Not that Piper was complaining. While Phil was there, Piper could squeeze her toes under Phil's thigh and keep them nice and warm as she worked on her notes.

It was nice.

The silence was only broken up by the occasional rustle of paper, at least until the door was pushed open and Hancock swaggered in. Upon seeing Phil, his face lit up, and he adjusted his hat at a roguish angle as he made his way up behind the couch.

Hancock leaned over Phil's shoulder, close enough to be nuzzling her cheek.

"Hey there, good looking," he said, and offered a tin of Mentats to her, "you in need of a little reading aid?"

Piper rolled her eyes because everyone, including Hancock, knew damn well Phil didn't take chems.

But there was the quirk of a smile of Phil's face anyway.

"Nah, I think Mentats would just make the plot holes more obvious. You enjoy yourself, though," she said.

Hancock hummed in acquiescence and stuffed the tin of Mentats back in his pockets.

"You had some Jet laying around last time I was here...?" he asked.

"Cabinet. Up-most drawer," Phil replied.

Hancock grinned, and placing a hand to the back of her head, tipped her head sideways so he could catch her mouth in a kiss. It was deep, and long, and just loud enough to make Piper a bit uncomfortable.

"We still on for tonight?" he asked.

"Wouldn't miss it," Phil replied.

After that, Hancock took his Jet and left.

Piper remained quiet for a while. She was perfectly able to let things go, and they were having a good time here, sitting together. They could go back to that. She didn't need to prod Phil with questions.

But in the end, she couldn't stop herself. Piper dropped her notes on the coffee table.

"What do you see in him?" she asked.

Phil turned a page on her comic book.

"The loincloth, I think," Phil replied serenely. "Bold fashion choice. It's not like he doesn't know what pants are, after all. He's met the other Unstoppables."

"You know I don't mean Grognak the Barbarian," Piper said.

"Probably for the best. Most of the women he sleeps with end up dead," Phil replied, before finally putting her comic book down and turning to Piper.

"Come on, Blue, what do you see in Hancock? He's sleazy, he's irresponsible, and at this point I don't think anyone would be able to find a drop of blood in his chem stream."

Phil snorted a laugh.

"Okay, well, first of all, dressing like a pimp notwithstanding, Hancock isn't sleazy. And he's not irresponsible, either. You just don't like mayors in general."

"What--? I don't like mayors in-- what's that supposed to mean?" Piper bristled.

"You didn't like McDonough--" Phil began, counting on her fingers.

"Understandably so," Piper muttered.

"Yes, understandably so," Phil conceded, but continued to the next finger, "you didn't like the mayor in Covenant--"

"Oh, the creepy mayor from the town that tortured and killed people!"

"Again, understandable. You don't like Hancock, and you don't like MacCready."

"What's MacCready have to do with anything?" Piper threw her hands up.

"He's the control," Phil sniffed. "You didn't even know he used to be mayor in Little Lamplight, and you didn't like him anyway. Four different mayors you met, and you have a one hundred percent dislike rate."

"Okay, I didn't catch much from Curie about this kind of thing, but I do know she'd say your sample size is too small," Piper retorted.

Phil tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"Good point," she said. "We're gonna need to run a few experiments. Maybe pick someone you already like, and have them run for mayor to see if you stop liking them. I'll volunteer."

"Stop it!" Piper said, taking the throw pillow from behind her back and flinging it at Phil's face.

Phil laughed, while Piper crossed her arms and pretended to sulk.

"Don't think I haven't noticed how you didn't answer my question about Hancock," Piper said.

"Oh, he's just that great in the sack," Phil replied.

"Ugh! Give me the throw pillow, I need to hit you in the face again."

Phil laughed and threw the pillow back to Piper.

"Seriously, though?" Phil asked.

"Seriously," Piper said. "Come on, Blue, he's not your type."

"Oh, wow, what do you think my type is, exactly?"

"You know, like the other guys you're involved with. Like Preston, or Nick. Or your war hero husband, for that matter."

Phil raised an eyebrow, and Piper distinctly felt like bringing up Nate had been a foot-in-mouth moment.

"First time I met Nate," Phil said, "it was at a frat party. He offered me a hit of Daytripper and fed me a really cheesy pick-up line about 'getting lucky'."

Piper blinked. "...what?"

Phil patiently took Piper's hand and patted it.

"Piper, trust me. If I have a type, it's completely flown over your head what it actually is."

After that, Phil got up and departed.

Piper remained on the couch, frowning as she tried to figure out what Phil had meant.


	5. Introductions

"This is Duncan," MacCready said, his hand gripping the boy's shoulder nervously. "Duncan, this is Phil. I told you about her, remember?"

Duncan looked up at Phil--as he looked up at most people, being so small--and continued picking his nose with great aplomb.

MacCready cringed a bit and tried surreptitiously pulling his arm away. This was not the first impression he'd been aiming for.

Phil, however, did not seem to mind. She crouched down so she was level with Duncan and really looked at him. They stared at each other for a long time, their expressions equally serious.

It was starting to make MacCready nervous.

"So," Phil said at length, and jabbed a thumb in MacCready's direction, "this nerd's your dad?"

Duncan gasped, indignant.

"Hey! Watch it, lady! My dad's cool!" the boy declared, and stopped picking his nose so he could grab his father's hand.

"Yeah?" Phil squinted up at MacCready. "Huh. I thought it was just the hat. But if _you_ say so..."

"I thought you were supposed to be good with kids," MacCready muttered.

"I'm awesome with kids," Phil retorted. "Hey, Duncan, want to see my comic book collection?"

"Cheating," MacCready groaned, but Duncan's eyes lit up and he was already nodding eagerly.

Duncan took Phil's hand, and as she led him towards her house, she threw a smug look over her shoulder.

"Cheating cheater who cheats," MacCready muttered under his breath as he followed.


	6. Unwind

As a rule, whenever she was out and about the Commonwealth, Phil tended to have a rather lackadaisical approach to safety. Maybe it was that pre-War upbringing of hers, making her think any old place was good for a stroll, and not infrequently, this meant she walked up right to danger's doorstep and gave a hearty knock on the door.

Now, however, her hands were clenched on her weapon, and her eyes constantly scanned the horizon. Now, she was as sharply aware as a trader with a prize brahmin trying to herd it through Boston Common.

"Worried?" Hancock asked, as he casually lit himself a cigarette.

"No, not worried," Phil replied, before her eyes flicked back to the object of her attention. "Shaun, honey, don't climb on that thing. It'll topple over." She turned back to Hancock, her face creased with stress. "Why do you ask?"

"Your voice is doing that thing where goes really high pitched and breathy," Hancock said. "You only sound like that when you're worried."

"I'm shrill when I worry?" Phil asked.

"You used that word, not me," Hancock replied. "You should relax, nothing bad's going to happen to the kid. We're standing right here."

"Yeah, yeah," Phil said, and after a short pause added, "Only, we're the kind of people who do get shot at a lot."

Hancock hummed non-committally. 

"And," Phil continued, "if we thought to scavenge here, someone else might think it's a good place to loot."

"Yeah," Hancock agreed. "Whole reason you brought along a whole contingent a' _those guys_ ," he added, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, at the Minutemen either busily picking through junk or standing guard with their laser muskets. "To say nothing of the dog."

Phil lapsed into silence again, lulled into momentary reassurance. But Hancock could see the wheels moving in her head, grinding out more reasons to worry.

"Remember when we used to take on groups just as big, the two of us?" she asked.

"You asking because you're nostalgic, or because you're afraid there's someone just as crazy as you roaming the Commonwealth right now, hankering to take on some Minutemen?"

"It could happen, is all I'm saying," she replied. "I have a son now. I... worry about stuff like this."

"You don't got to worry all the time. Now you have people watching out for him. People with lasers."

Hancock could see verbal reassurance was not going to get through to her. He placed a hand against her shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles against the back of her neck, where he knew she held all her tension.

When this didn't help much either, he shuffled closer to her, pressing close against her back, circling his arms around her waist. He brought his lips close to her ear.

"But hey," he whispered, smirking to himself, "if that isn't enough for you, meet me behind that overturned truck, and I'll _really_ help you unwind."

Phil made an offended sound in her throat--she'd gotten really uptight about engaging in funny business anywhere her kid might stumble across--and proceeded to pluck the cigarette from Hancock's fingers and throw it to the ground, stomping on it to put it out.

She knew damn well he had at least two more packs of cigarettes on him, so Hancock laughed at this petty act of ineffectual punishment, and untangled himself from her.

"Alright, have it your way," he said, taking out another cigarette and lighting it. "Guess you're not going to be _relaxing_ until you get home, then."

Phil threw him a stern glare, but her cheeks were flushed, so Hancock replied with a smirk.

Now she had something other than ambushes to be thinking about.


End file.
